


Seasons, Changing of

by Snickfic



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Post-Captain Marvel (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: Carol allowed herself another cautious sniff. Therewasa familiar note underneath all the stench. An idea came to her, but it couldn’t be right. “You’re in season?” she said, and waited for him to correct her with the withering disdain she remembered so well.What he said, eyes still closed, was, “You always were bright.”





	Seasons, Changing of

Carol was only there because she’d heard there was a Kree hanging around. If she was going to coax any nearby Skrulls out of hiding, first she needed to make sure the Kree wasn’t going to be a problem. So Carol followed the barkeep’s directions - the woman had had purple snakes in her hair and no fondness for the Kree - and ended up at the end of a grimy hall, faced with a door that looked like it might fall off its hinges if she knocked too hard.

She tapped it with her knuckles. No answer came. The barkeep had told her the Kree hadn’t left the place in days, which raised some questions about just how closely the local populace was watching him. “Hello?” Carol called.

“Fuck off,” came the reply. It wouldn’t have deterred her in any case, but there was something to the inflection that caught her attention. Something—

“I’m coming in,” she said, and pushed at the door. It was sturdier than it looked. She blasted the lock, and then it wasn’t so sturdy anymore.

The place stank. That was Carol’s first thought, her gorge rising as she took another shallow breath of the wet, organic soup of an odor the place was swimming in. Something had gone off, something worse than food, something—

“Of course it’s you,” said a weary voice. Carol spotted him now, the figure bound up in a blanket, huddled in the shadows of the unlit room. The one skylight didn’t admit much of the late afternoon sun. Then the figure turned his head just a fraction to the right, and it all came together: his voice, the slope of his nose. 

“And—it’s you,” Carol said, inanely, because it was. It was Yon-Rogg, but not as she’d last seen him. Even in the dim light she could see the shadows around his eyes. “Are you—what’s wrong with you?”

“Can’t you come back later?” he asked, without much hope.

“I think I’d like an answer now.”

“What do you think?” Yon-Rogg tipped his head back to rest against the wall. His eyes fell shut. He sounded more exhausted than she’d ever heard him. “Can’t you smell it?”

Carol allowed herself another cautious sniff. There _was_ a familiar note underneath all the stench. An idea came to her, but it couldn’t be right. “You’re in season?” she said, and waited for him to correct her with the withering disdain she remembered so well.

What he said, eyes still closed, was, “You always were bright.”

Yon-Rogg, leader of Starforce’s most elite team, the Supreme Intelligence’s own darling—Yon-Rogg was seasonal, like any Yoranian native. The Kree had taught Carol scorn for the Yoranians very early on; no one could be depended upon whose body’s needs rose and fell like the tide. Yon-Rogg himself had told her so. _You’re not like them,_ he’d said, _no matter that your skin looks the same as theirs._

Yet here Yon-Rogg was. “You’re alone,” Carol said. Yon-Rogg shrugged—it might have been a chuckle—and did not answer. 

A season spent without company lasted a long time. It clouded your mind towards the end. It was painful. It was weakness, Yon-Rogg had told her, and enduring it brought no strength, only reprieve until the next time. 

Carol crossed the dim room to a sink, found a mug that seemed more-or-less clean, and filled it. She brought it to the corner where Yon-Rogg was and knelt at his feet. She closed one hand in a fist, just in case, though tricks weren’t Yon-Rogg’s style. “Here,” she said, and held out the mug. 

Yon-Rogg opened his eyes to glare at her, and then at the mug. He huffed a harsh breath through his nose. But she kept holding the mug out, and finally he took it. He drained it in two long swallows. “There,” he said, setting the mug on the floor with a clatter. “I’m hydrated. Are you happy?”

“Are you?”

“Vers—”

“If you call me Carol, I’ll help you.”

He stared at her, disbelieving. She didn’t quite believe it herself, but she didn’t feel any desire to walk the offer back, either. This time, Yon-Rogg closed his eyes as if the very motion pained him. “Please go. Whatever you want with me, you can have it later.”

“Okay,” Carol said, pushing to her feet. She felt a little bad, now, about destroying his lock. Maybe she’d ask around for someone to keep tabs on him while she went scouting for Skrulls, make sure nobody came out _or_ in.

She was almost to the door when he rasped, “Carol.” Carol froze. Slowly, not quite believing her ears, she turned. All she could see of Yon-Rogg was the glint of his eyes, watching her. Hungrily, she thought. Desperately, and there was a part of her that disliked seeing it.

“Okay,” she repeated, meaning something altogether different this time. Now she _really_ regretted the business with the lock. She glanced around the room, picked out a blocky piece of shelving, and shoved it in front of the door. When she turned, Yon-Rogg was struggling free of the blankets, but weakly. When had he eaten last? 

As she crossed the room, half her mind was on the question of what Yon-Rogg might have in his food dispensary. She was startled out of her thoughts by a grip on her wrist, vice-tight and hot like a sun-warmed hull. “Please,” Yon-Rogg said. He tugged her nearer. “Please.”

“I’ve never heard you say that before,” Carol said, sinking to her knees. “Not like you meant it.”

“Are you going to sit there and talk at me or are you—mmph.”

His mouth was hot. She cupped his jaw as she kissed, and that was hot, too. He was hot all over, feverish with unmet need. He mouthed hungrily at her, moaning, and it was impossible to tell whether it was a moan of pain or pleasure or need or all three. All three, probably. He tasted foul, but she let his tongue sweep her mouth anyway, frantic, as if she might disappear at any moment. “Vers,” he gasped.

“ _Carol_ ,” she said, and jerked his blanket away from him. Underneath, he looked how she remembered from all those early mornings: broad, a little bit hairy. Only, now he was fever-hot to the touch, and he gasped as she swept her hand down his side. He was already tenting his underwear, which looked like they might have been silken at one point but were now crusty with more days of his season that Carol had any desire to think about. “Off,” she said, gripping the waistband and tugging. Yon-Rogg shoved awkwardly up on his hands and straightened his legs for her, but without any of his usual coordination. 

“Why?” she said, to the air as much as to him. “Why did you let it get so far?”

“What, you think a soul on this planet would spit on a Kree if he were on fire? Much less a Yoran turncoat.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why do you think?” he demanded, eyes blazing suddenly with a fury she barely recognized. Yon-Rogg didn’t _get_ angry, not like this, burning with it. “You sent me back empty-handed, and I told you, I _told_ you—”

“Yeah, you told me a whole lot of things,” Carol said, and kissed him again, because if she shut him up, she wouldn’t be tempted to stand up and walk right back out that door. He moaned against her, gratifyingly deep. His hands swept restlessly up and down her back.

“Skin,” he said, the next time they broke apart. “I need skin. Please.” His fingers picked uselessly at the catches on the sides of her uniform.

“Yeah, okay.” Carol sat back and stripped. She didn’t bother with a show; she had all of Yon-Rogg’s desperate attention already. She took it all off, her Starforce-sourced armor and her own colors, until all she wore was skin. Only human.

Yon-Rogg reached up to trail his fingers along her collarbone. Then, down between her breasts. “I always thought—” he said. He shook his head. “Will you—please—”

“Tell me,” Carol said. 

But Yon-Rogg seemed to have run out of words at last, to be running on bodily instinct and nothing more. He gripped her waist and tugged. She let him guide her up, straddling his thighs, until she hovered there above his erect cock. He met her eyes, and there was little left there but anguish.

She wondered if _helping_ him was really the mercy she’d meant it to be. She wondered if he’d see it that way after. “Are you sure?” she said.

“Please,” he whispered.

And so she lowered herself onto his cock, inch by inch, while he shuddered against her. She was pretty wet already, whether just from the kissing or from some kind of chemical response to Yon-Rogg’s needy pheromones. He was a good stretch inside her. It’d been a while, maybe.

Yon-Rogg pressed his face into Carol’s chest. She brushed her hand over his hair, which was damp with sweat. Pleasant. “How are you not dehydrated to death?” she muttered.

“Mm?”

“Nothing.” She stroked up and down the back of his neck, and then along his spine. She had the full power of the Tesseract in her fists these days, but he was still bigger than her, and every inch of him was trembling. She shifted her weight just to feel the hot friction of his cock inside. She felt his groan all the way through her chest. “We could move at some point,” she said.

Yon-Rogg took another deep, shuddering breath and rolled his hips. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Carol said. Yon-Rogg pulled back to grin at her, not with his usual smug superiority but with—joy? In the face of that, Carol was helpless to do anything but grin back. Then she activated her thigh muscles and shoved up, feeling every delicious bit of the drag of his cock inside her. “Oh yeah,” she said.

They had to pause every so often so that Yon-Rogg could press his face to her breasts and just breathe. “I waited too long,” he said, during one of the longer pauses, quietly enough that Carol could pretend to ignore it. She rubbed a circle over his shoulder blade. Soon enough he pulled away and thrust weakly upward, and they began again.

“Vers,” he said eventually, when the shudders had become more acute.

“ _Carol_ ,” she said, pulling back to glare. “I will climb the fuck off if you can’t get it right.”

He was too far gone to do more than pinch his brows together and brush his hand up and down her side, perhaps intended to soothe, perhaps as a plea. “Carol,” he repeated dutifully. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anything, not when he was moments away from release, glassy-eyed with want and the brute demands of his body. It didn’t matter. What had she expected?

“Carol,” he said again. He reached up to trace a finger along her bottom lip. In the depths of his eyes, she saw the glint of something she recognized, something she’d mostly convinced herself had never been there in the first place: fondness.

“Yeah,” she said. She bent to kiss him. He still tasted foul, but she hardly noticed as she slid her tongue over his. She began to move again, rise and descent, rise and descent, slower with each iteration until he was shaking with the effort to hold still. Carol palmed his jaw, thumbing across the whorl of his ear. “You can let go. It’s okay.”

He came with a grunt and a hot gasp against her shoulder. When he’d gone slack, leaning back on his arms to keep him upright, Carol dropped her hand at last and massages circles in her throbbing clit. She came with him still inside her. Then she rolled off him onto the floor, gasping for air. She watched the shadow of some local space barge cross the skylight. Finally, when she’d caught her breath and her heartbeat had begun to slow, it occurred to her just how filthy Yon-Rogg’s floor probably was.

She pushed upright. “Ugh,” she said. She turned and found Yon-Rogg watching her warily. He looked a lot more lucid than he had half an hour ago. “Better?” Carol asked.

He nodded, mouth twisting. “Did you know?”

“About you? I had no freaking idea.”

“Well. That’s something, anyway.”

Carol licked her lips. “I’m looking for Skrull refugees. Are you going to get in the way? Or try to hurt them?” 

He chuckled, low and mirthless. “No.”

He could be lying, she supposed, but he’d never been much for those kinds of lies. Only the big ones, it turned out. “Good plan,” she told him. She pushed to her feet and picked up her suit. Ugh, she did not want to put on her suit still sticky from sex. Oh, well. She slid it on, snapped the clasps, zipped the zippers. It’d wick away some of the sweat, anyway.

“Carol,” Yon-Rogg said. She turned to find him making a face, like he’d tasted something bitter. But he met her eyes, and he said, “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” she said. _Anytime_ , she almost said, but held it in. “See you around?” she offered instead.

Yon-Rogg huffed. “Perhaps.”

Carol walked back down the long, grimy hall, a good two hours after she’d arrived, and stepped into the last of the evening’s daylight. _Perhaps_.

[end]


End file.
